Upon a Burning Throne

by Ashok K. Banker

  “Is that all?”

  “That is all. See? It is nothing really. A few minor sacrifices and everything you desire can be yours.”

  Shvate walked a few steps away, looking at the whiteness outside the palace. In this entire time he had been speaking with his mother, there had been no other sound or sign of another being. Just the two of them, alone in this facsimile of the palace suspended in a white limbo.

  “And if I agree to do this, you will tell me where Darinda is hiding so I can kill him?”

  When she did not answer, he turned to look at her.

  She was looking down at her hands, staring at her open palms as if she was holding something in them. “It is not necessary to kill Darinda.”

  “It is not necessary to kill Darinda.”

  She looked up at him. “Leave Reygar, withdraw your army, return to Hastinaga.”

  He stared. “And the campaign? My mission?”

  She shrugged. “Reygar is only symbolic. It has no strategic value to Hastinaga. Conquering it means nothing politically.”

  “It means that we marched into Jarsun’s stronghold and dealt him a punishing blow for daring to rally our own allies against us.”

  She made a face. “It still proves nothing. Jarsun is not here. You cannot reach him. Merely killing one of many kings who pledge loyalty to him, taking one of a hundred cities in his vast empire, doesn’t end the threat of Reygistan.”

  “How else to end the threat of Reygistan except to kill one king at a time, take each city, conquer his empire step by step?”

  She shook her head. “You are not seeing the larger picture, Shvate. Jarsun is a powerful ally. He is of more use to you alive than dead. In any case, you will never be able to kill him. That will never happen.”

  “How can you be so sure? If I could reach Dirda, where he was only a short while ago, then it means I am close on his heels.”

  “You may nip at his heels all you want, but you will never face him in battle and win. You are no match for the God-Emperor himself.”

  “And you are sure of this?”

  “Yes.”

  Shvate pursed his lips. Enough. Time to end this charade.

  “It seems to me that you deceived me. You said first that I must kill Darinda, and that you would tell me where he was hiding so I could accomplish that task. But in reality you were only luring me in so you could manipulate me into doing what you wanted me to do all along.”

  Again that same gesture of dismissal. “You are still such a boy. Immature. Not just pale of skin, but pale of blood, as well. You do not have the stomach or the strength. It will take someone far stronger than you to stand against Jarsun. You are not even fit to challenge Darinda. I was wrong about you. You are every bit the disappointment I knew you were when you were born.”

  Shvate knew the time for words was past.

  He drew his sword and strode forward.

  Umber raised her head and saw him coming. Her eyes flared as he approached, and in her grey pupils he saw twin reflections of himself looming, sword raised, and in that instant, as he struck down with all his might—

  4

  Everything changed.

  Hastinaga palace disappeared. The whiteness vanished.

  His mother . . . transformed.

  He was in the cave, in the exact same spot he had been in when he stepped out over the abyss. Except it wasn’t a portal to another place, it was simply an artfully concealed stone bridge leading to a central platform. The bridge was cut from the same black stone as the inside of the cave. It led to a central edifice that rose from the heart of the abyss, which Shvate recognized as some manner of altar. But in place of a deity sitting atop it was a peculiarly shaped rock about eight feet high and only a foot and a half wide, resembling an unusually tall and slender man. The rock hung suspended in midair. This was the source of the light he had seen earlier, through which he had stepped into that other place where he’d conversed with the being who’d claimed to be his mother. But the rock was dark now. And he was back in the shrine in the heart of the mountain.

  But he was not alone.

  A man stood before him—standing exactly in the same spot as where his “mother” had been—and blocked Shvate’s mighty sword thrust with a blade of his own. He was a bearded, hulking brute with large, bulging eyes, clothed in furs from head to foot, giving him the appearance of a very large animal. He snarled at Shvate and deflected his sword strike.

  “Ayushmaanbhavya, son! So sad that you could not meet your actual mother. I trust I played the part well?”

  He laughed then, at Shvate, and began circling the oval stone above the altar. Shvate maintained his guard, his heart and mind racing.

  “Are you still trying to comprehend what is happening? What did you think? That you would march into my lord’s empire and simply conquer us? We are not mere Krushan to be bullied by your tactics, Shvate. We are Reygistani. We have fought and won a thousand battles. We eat Krushan for breakfast and shit out the pits!”

  Darinda—for it was he, Shvate knew with sudden surety—sprang from behind the altar, lunging at Shvate with a sideways thrust. Shvate parried once, then again after another thrust, then swung back, only to be countered by Darinda again. As they dueled, the steel of their swords rang out and echoed in the enclosed space.

  “You didn’t fool me,” Shvate said. “I knew from the start it was not my mother.”

  Darinda chuckled as he thrust and then danced away, surprisingly nimble for such a large man. “I don’t believe you. You drank in every word as if it would change your life. Jarsun told me how your mother neglected you as a boy. So sad, poor little Krushan prince—all alone and neglected in his great big palace.”

  Shvate lunged and hacked at Darinda, who dodged away in the nick of time, and Shvate’s sword struck the stone wall behind the man, raising a shower of sparks. He recovered and swung around in time to parry a killing blow from Darinda, then kicked his opponent’s thigh. Darinda cried out, staggering back, his face twisted.

  “Took it personally, did we, Krushan boy? Don’t blame me for your gullibility. You were ready to do as Ma said, weren’t you?”

  “I was just playing along, biding my time,” Shvate said, moving sideways, sword held at the ready. “Your poor attempt to manipulate me was too pathetic to even comment on. Abandon my wives, disinherit my brother, leave you alive, depart Reygar? You were so transparent, I had to stop myself from laughing out loud at times!”

  Darinda’s face reflected his confusion: the Reygistani didn’t know that Shvate was only able to say these things now that the illusion was dispelled. Truthfully, Shvate had come close to being duped, not by the illusion itself, but because of the weakness of his own heart. He had wanted to believe it really was his mother, to hear her speak sweetly to him, smile her pretty smile, be kind to him, express affection and love for him . . . He had needed that so badly for so long, it had made him want to succumb to the illusion, to pretend it was real. That was the evil genius of Jarsun’s sorcery, not to force a person into seeing something impossible, but simply to make one believe what one wanted to believe.

  “You lie, Krushan!” he snarled, fighting back now with less reserve. Shvate noted the limp in his opponent’s right leg. That kick had struck a nerve. If he could press his advantage on that side . . . “I had you fooled! You would have done anything your mother said. All she had to do was bat her eyelashes and smile at you.” A sly look came over the man’s face as he sought an opening in Shvate’s defenses. “Quite a pretty piece, your mother. I intend to visit her someday. Except, I don’t intend to waste time pretending to be a good son! I recall that she has been widowed for a very long time. She must crave the company of a man. Do you get my meaning, Krushan boy?”

  Shvate roared and swung out at Darinda, striking left, right, and then left again, each blow pressing the Reygistani a step back.

  “Did I strike a sore point?” Darinda yelled. “Don’t be so—”

  Suddenly, a voice
cut through the ringing of their swords. “Shvate, the altar! Strike the altar!”

  Vida. Shvate couldn’t see his half brother but knew he must be on the ledge, where he and Mayla had been standing before he’d stepped through the portal. Except . . . what if it wasn’t actually Vida but another illusion?

  “Are you sure, brother?” Shvate called back as he continued to press Darinda. The Reygistani had rallied and was pounding Shvate now with hammer-like blows. But his smile had faltered and he was scowling now again, his sword moves more desperate, as if he sought to end the fight quickly.

  “Yes, the altar!” Vida shouted back.

  Shvate grinned and winked at Darinda. “That’s my brother, arrogant know-it-all.”

  Shvate turned his sword and hacked at the oval stone. As his blade struck it, Shvate felt a peculiar, dead sensation reverberate up his arm. There was no sound of impact, but it felt as if his weapon had struck something solid yet yielding, and his arm went numb for an instant. But Darinda’s face went slack with horror, and Shvate looked down and saw that his blade was embedded in the empty center of the oval stone, as if buried in the body of an invisible being.

  “No!” Darinda cried.

  With some effort, Shvate wrenched his sword free; it took nearly all his strength. He reared back and swung again, striking at the same spot with twice as much force as before. This time he sensed that the blade bit deeper, and then felt a splash of something cold and wet on his chest and the underside of his neck.

  Darinda roared and lunged at him.

  Shvate released his sword, drew his short knife, and stabbed the Reygistani low, in the place beneath his ribs, pushing the blade upward, into the center of the man’s chest cavity. Darinda’s sword was slashing toward Shvate’s neck, but it lost its momentum and clattered to the stone floor of the shrine. The life began to drain from his face, and Shvate knew he had struck the man’s heart a fatal blow.

  “You fool!” Darinda said as he collapsed on the altar. “The offer was real. My god would have fulfilled his promise to you. You would have had everything you desired. You would be Emperor of the World. But you . . . you . . . you Krushan!”

  Shvate took hold of the man by the front of his furs, grasping them in his fist, and lifting Darinda bodily. “Yes. I am Krushan. To hell with your god and his devilish offer.”

  Shvate let the man drop back. Darinda fell against the altar, his head striking the empty space inside the oval. It made a wet sound as if striking something solid, but if there was indeed anything there, it was not visible. Just the empty oval ring of stone floating in midair—and Shvate’s sword stuck in the center of its void.

  A deep rumbling began from somewhere far below Shvate’s feet, and a dark red glow began to seep from the oval rock—similar to the earlier crimson glow that had blazed in the cave, but a deeper red this time, and now not in pulses but in waves, seeping and ebbing, flowing and fading again . . .

  “Shvate! We have to go!”

  Shvate looked around. There was nothing more to be done here. Darinda was dead.

  He stepped through the stone-cut entrance. The abyss yawned beneath his feet, but thanks to the crimson light behind him, he could see the stone bridge. Across the bridge, Mayla and Vida were standing, beckoning to him anxiously.

  “Quickly, brother!” Vida shouted. “You have struck the heart of the city. Soon it will fall!”

  Shvate started to traverse the bridge, but when he was halfway across, the entire cavern shuddered. A stone underfoot cracked, and part of the bridge collapsed into the abyss.

  Shvate lost his footing and fell—

  But Mayla screamed and threw herself forward, catching his hand as he fell, grabbing hold just in time. Shvate heard the thump of her body striking the ground hard, but she held on to his hand with all her strength. Shvate grunted as he struggled to gain his footing, but the side of the cavern was crumbling. The whole city was shuddering and trembling now, not like it had earlier when it was attacking the Krushan army, but as if it was standing still and shivering. He felt Mayla’s grip starting to slip, and for an instant, it seemed certain he would fall into darkness, to his death.

  Then Vida’s hand grabbed his other hand, and Mayla changed hands to get a better grip. Together they began to pull Shvate upward, all of them straining.

  “Heavy!” Mayla complained.

  Shvate grinned as he came over the top and collapsed beside her. “Man muscle is heavy, my love,” he said.

  Mayla slapped him lightly, then kissed him. “I thought I lost you!”

  “Lovebirds!” Vida shouted. “Talk less, run faster!”

  They rose to their feet and began to run.

  Emerging from the cave, through the squat rectangular entranceway, into the streets of Reygar, Shvate was shocked to see it was past sundown. How long had they been in there? Surely it could not have been so many hours? But time must pass differently inside one of Jarsun’s illusions. He had so many questions, but now was not the time to ask them. Later, he would discuss them with Vida. Now, they had to survive—literally—the fall of Reygar.

  5

  Some time later, after a great deal of leaping, running madly, and vigorous climbing, Mayla, Vida, and Shvate finally stood on the desert floor again, and watched the giant city-mountain shudder one last time and then collapse like a pile of bricks, crashing down onto the desert in a gigantic heap of debris, as his army watched and cheered. As Vida blinked and grinned in relief alongside him, Shvate thought of what Darinda, impersonating his mother, had said.

  You are now at a crossroad, Shvate. The choice you face is crucial to your future.

  He had made his choice.

  The only question was, had it been the right one?

  Karni

  The world was thundering, and the sky was rolling.

  Karni was lying on her side on a heap of fur blankets, another two furs covering her. Everything was moving, the ground was rumbling beneath her. She turned her head and saw a wall of metal. She sat up slowly with an effort and found herself in the well of her own chariot. She had been covered and padded so effectively that even if the chariot had crashed, she would have been well protected by the sheer number of furs.

  She was disoriented for a moment. The last she remembered, she had been dragged down into the river’s belly and drawn through some kind of portal. Or had that been some kind of . . . dream?

  She rose to her feet slowly, gripping the sideboard. They were moving at a fast pace, and from the trees zipping past, she guessed that they were almost halfway to Hastinaga. She saw they were alone on the road, except for her armed escort of soldiers, who rode in front of and behind her vehicle. There was no sign of Adri and Geldry’s chariot.

  “Adran,” she called out.

  The charioteer turned his head but kept his tight grip on the reins of the horse team. He saw her standing upright and eased back on the reins, pulling the chariot off to one side. He raised his whip, waving it in the gesture that indicated to the guards that he was stopping. A moment later, he came to a halt on the side of the road. Her escort pulled over as well, resting their horses.

  “Princess, you should be resting.”

  “I am fine, Adran.”

  He looked at her with concern. The lanterns on the chariot cast shadows, but she could see his face well enough. He looked at her as if afraid that she would collapse at any time.

  “You should lie down, Princess. We will reach Hastinaga soon.”

  “What happened to me?”

  He was silent for a moment. She could hear the night sounds of the forest all around, the neighing of the horses, the voices of the guards as they conversed. “You don’t remember?”

  “I remember going into the river for a swim. I remember swimming to the far bank, then swimming back. After that . . .” She frowned, trying to think back. Sunlight. Water. The sun low on the horizon. The cries of birds in the sky. That was it. “After that, I woke up to find myself in the chariot just now.”
/>   Adran sighed. “You should speak with the royal healers. Perhaps the drowning—”

  “Drowning? What drowning?”

  He looked at her.

  “You mean me? I drowned? That’s absurd, Adran. I’m an excellent swimmer.”

  He looked uncomfortable. “I found you in the river, floating on your back, unconscious. The sentries and maids had been searching for you for hours by then. At first, I thought you were—” He shook his head. “There was no water in your chest; you did not cough up or spit out any water. Yet you were deeply unconscious. It was . . . strange. I did not know what else to do, so we put you in the chariot and bundled you with furs, and I am taking you home.”

  Karni considered all this. “Where were Adri and Geldry?”

  “Prince Adri and Princess Geldry had left for the city by the time we found you. The princess received word that her brother had arrived from Geera and wanted to meet him at once. Prince Adri sent word to you that they were leaving, but your maids could not find you. And by the time I located you in the river, they had long gone.” He trailed off. “Are you sure you are well enough to stand up, Princess?”

  “I feel absolutely fine.” And she did, except for a ravenous hunger. She felt like she could eat a whole bull. “What were you doing by the river?”

  “Huh? Oh, apologies, Princess. I was offering prayers to Mother Jeel. She has been very munificent to my wife, Reeda, and myself. We owe her so much.”

  She nodded. Strange that while all her maids and sentries had been searching for her, it was Adran who had found her floating in the Jeel.

  “Are you sure you remember nothing else, Princess?”

  She shook her head. “No.” It was the truth. But somewhere at the back of her mind, there was something she felt she ought to remember. But it didn’t seem connected to the river or to this day. It was something entirely different. Something to do with . . . Shvate, and our five children. The thought popped into her head out of nowhere. She blushed at the thought. What a strange thought. She had not had any children by her husband yet, and here she was thinking of the five of them!